Who Did This?
by believeinsherlock221B
Summary: Spoilers for Season 2 Episode 3. "It's quite a long story, I am of course willing to tell it. I haven't had anyone to talk to except the French in quite some time."
1. Chapter 1

It was about five months before Greg moved onto Baker Street to live with John.

There relationship became more than platonic about five months after that. Not because they truly loved one another, but they had to fill the emptiness somehow.

Both still had gaping holes in their chest from where Sherlock used to be. Neither said his name, but they were both aware that they each still missed him.

It has now been one year and six months since they last saw Mycroft. Turns out he couldn't deal with the constant reminder of his dead brother by being in his old apartment.

Being in the old apartment is the only reason Greg and John are still alive. Neither could have guessed how hard it would be to live without Sherlock. They had never considered it before it happened.

John and Greg regretted never telling Sherlock how they felt about him. The pain began to become more bearable. Each still yelled Sherlock's name when things came to a climax in bed, but it no longer ended in tears.

Sometimes they felt as if Sherlock were still alive. Watching over them, shadowing them. But they could never catch sight of him.

When they talked about this possibility they decided that it could be true. Sherlock had performed miracles before. Why not this time? But if he was still alive, why had he not come back to them?

That question was finally asked aloud one night when they were sitting in the living room drinking tea. John had looked up at the skull and asked it about Sherlock.

The next day the men came home to find Mycroft sitting in Sherlock's chair. A chair that had gone unoccupied since the last time Sherlock sat in it.

"Please, sit."

Both men slowly sat on the couch, both wary of a situation that would warrant the appearance of the eldest Holmes brother.

"I come only as a messenger. My dear brother has decided he no longer wishes to withhold the knowledge of his existence from the two of you. He sends his regards and hopes that you will not be angry with him for long."

There was a long period of silence while Greg and John just stared at Mycroft.

"Sherlock…is alive?" Greg asked, hoping he hadn't just been hearing things.

Mycroft nodded, "Yes, he is alive and well."

"Then why the hell is he not here telling us this himself?" John nearly shouted, trying to control himself but finding it particularly challenging.

"My brother came to terms with the idea that your lives were more important to him than his own quite some time ago. He has taken it upon himself to try and make sure no one will ever threaten your lives again. From what I've heard, he is almost finished with his little mission. You should probably expect him home within the next few months."

"What do you mean he's taken it upon himself to make sure no one will threaten our lives? What is he doing?" John asked worriedly.

Mycroft's lips quirked up, "I am sure Sherlock would prefer to tell you himself. Now if you will excuse me, I have a dinner with the Prime Minister tonight."

With that Mycroft left and Greg and John were left to sit in their lounge in silence, contemplating this new information.

After that conversation life continued on much the same, except now both men had something to look forward to, something to hope for.

Their hearts nearly stopped five months later when they again entered their apartment to find Mycroft there. But this time Mycroft was not sitting, and he looked somewhat somber.

"Pack your bags quickly."

It took them five minutes of racing around the flat to gather everything they thought they might need for an undetermined number of days.

Mycroft said nothing as he led them down the stairs and into a sleek black car. Once everyone was settled he began speaking.

"Sherlock has been wounded and is in a hospital in France. I am not sure how long he has been there but I do know that he has been asking for the three of us. I do not know how badly wounded he is so do not bother asking."

A tense silence settled over the car. It was obvious that Mycroft was blaming himself for his brother's predicament.

The plane ride was also, for the most part, silent. The stewardess came around a few times but was greeted only with silence or shrugs.

Upon landing they were again whisked away in another black car.

Their final destination was a hospital. Mycroft led them threw the back entrance towards a lift. The lift only had two buttons, one for the ground floor and one for the top floor.

A receptionist greeted them as they stepped off the lift. Mycroft began speaking to her in rapid French. The poor receptionist looked scared out of her mind as she led them to a room at the very end of the hallways.

The receptionist said something that John vaguely remembered as "he is sleeping." Of course, the voice that called through the door told them otherwise.

All three men gasped as they walked into the room. In the middle of a large hospital bed laid Sherlock Holmes. But he was barely recognizable as the man they used to know. His curls were now trimmed short, close to his head. He had somehow managed to get even skinnier, and he was covered in bruises and gashes that looked like they were only just beginning to heal.

John was the first one by his side. His hand gently moving across Sherlock's forehead, "What happened to you? Who did this?"

Sherlock sighed and practically nuzzled into the Doctor's touch. John couldn't stop the few tears that leaked out of his eyes.

"It's quite a long story, I am of course willing to tell it. I haven't had anyone to talk to except the French in quite some time."


	2. Chapter 2

"When Moriarty had me up on that rooftop he informed me that if I did not kill myself, three of the only people I care about would be shot. I assume the only reason he could not threaten the fourth is because Mycroft has a higher degree of protection than the others."

No one breathed for a second, all surprised that Sherlock had just admitted not only to caring about four people, but one of them being his brother.

"I had, of course, already thought that that might be the outcome of our meeting and had made prior arrangements in case I was going to be required to fall to my death."

John interrupted him then, "How? I saw you fall, I saw all of the blood, and I felt your lack of pulse!"

Sherlock quirked his mouth up at that, "Yes, you did see me fall. But when you were knocked over, by someone I paid to knock you over, you failed to notice certain things that would have proven I had survived the fall. I managed to slow my pulse down so that you would not know the difference. The blood was not mine; all of those doctors were actually part of my homeless network. Molly and Mycroft were the only ones who knew exactly what happened.

I did it to protect you. I had to find the rest of Moriarty's organization and make sure that they would never try to come after you again. I can now assure you that no one will ever come looking for you, John, or you, Lestrade, and especially not for Ms. Hudson."

"I expected that story to take quite a bit more time. But as always Sherly, you have left out the true reason behind you hunting down and 'interrogating', and I use that term lightly, over two dozen men."

Sherlock and Mycroft glared at each other for a few minutes before Sherlock finally relented. Later he would attribute it to the fact that he was still tired from his injuries.

The other two men in the room didn't know where to look. They could look at Mycroft, who looked smugger than usual, or at Sherlock who looked exasperated, but not irritated.

"What does he mean by interrogated?" Lestrade asked finally.

The amused, but somewhat sad glance he got from Sherlock was the only answer he really needed. "I should say that the problem has been eradicated."

"What is this true reason Mycroft's talking about, Sherlock?" John asked trying not to imagine Sherlock killing over a dozen men.

Sherlock glared at his brother, who quickly got the message. "I suppose I shall just go talk to the nurse about transferring you to a British hospital."

"I want to go home."

"Sherlock, you can't possible go home! It looks like someone just tried to blow you up yesterday!" John exclaimed, shooting a look at Mycroft to make sure that he wasn't thinking of allowing Sherlock at the hospital.

The eldest Holmes sighed, "We will stay here until you are well enough to go home, brother."

His brother didn't bother to respond, just shooed him out of the room.

When the three men were left alone, Sherlock realized he had absolutely no idea what to say, or how to go about saying it. "Why don't you both take a seat? No need for chairs, there is plenty of room on the bed."

John and Lestrade looked at each other before looking at Sherlock. At the same moment they decided they might as well sit on the bed. They climbed on, careful not to jostle Sherlock.

When they were finally settled John looked at Sherlock, "So what was that true reason?"


End file.
